


Crest of the Chevalier

by JoergenJetsam



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crests (Fire Emblem), Gen, Pre-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 13:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoergenJetsam/pseuds/JoergenJetsam
Summary: By the time of Three Houses, Rhea had made 12 vessels in the hopes of reincarnating Sothis.Centuries before Byleth, one of those vessels accidentally met an ancestral enemy. The results of their talk were better than she had any right to expect however.Obvious spoilers for certain in-game revelations regarding Rhea, the Church, Seiros and Sothis. I'd also like to pre-emptively apologize if I got any details of the canon wrong.





	Crest of the Chevalier

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on this site. Regardless, I hope you will derive some joy from reading this.
> 
> It'll be OC only on account of the timing of the piece, though canon characters are referred to.
> 
> I also thought it'd be neat to headcanon why some of the game's New Game+ crests don't have any bearers in-game.

The cathedral was deserted at night, a fact that came as a blessed relief to Theia. She walked, tiptoed really, as quiet as she could between the pews. Carefully, she sat down on one of the pews. It was slightly uncomfortable, which suited her just fine. It would make it harder to fall asleep.

In the dark she could barely make out any details about her surroundings, but she knew the entire monastery like the back of her hand. Some distance in front of her and to the right stood the altar, she knew. Further to the right stood the statues of the four saints, Indech, Macuil, Cichol and Cethleann. To the left was the door to the Goddess’ holy tomb, open only on select days. Theia was confident she could navigate Garreg Mach completely blindfolded if need be. She had never left the monastery after all, so it was only natural that she had grown familiar with it over the course of her life. 

Once, that matter would not have annoyed her as much as it did. Garreg Mach was Fodlan’s heart after all. What did it matter that she did not leave the grounds, when year by year pilgrims and nobles aplenty would come to them? To speak with the archbishop, to pay their respects to the saints, to celebrate the Goddess’ day of rebirth. She had been content before, a mere nun perhaps, but one secure in the knowledge of what her role was and what awaited her.

Time had eroded those certainties. Night by night, the same dreams, more vivid each time. A battle, a girl asleep on a throne, the Red Canyon. Theia was sure she could stomach a few nightmares, and they were not the reason she had come to abhor sleep so. But the implications were disturbing. Once, she had broached the matter with the archbishop, her mother. Her concerns had been heard yes, and words of comfort had been spoken. Yet beneath it all, Theia thought she the archbishop seemed almost pleased about this news. 

That frightened her more than anything. It suggested this was meant to be, for some reason. Why else would a mother be happy that her daughter be plagued with nightmares? And if this was in-keeping with archbishop’s plans, than surely the nightmares merely presaged something else, something yet to come. Nightmares in themselves could not be the intended point. So what was the point?  
She raised a hand to her chest. She could feel no heartbeat, as had been the case her entire life. Theia was acutely conscious of the fact that she was in no way an ‘ordinary’ human for some years now. Her lack of heartbeat, her pointed ears, she had not seen those traits in anyone else. But if that was the case, what was she? 

She had no answers. Only thoughts, speculation, half-formed theories. Nothing concrete. Nothing she could act on. It was beyond frustrating. She suspected the archbishop held the answers, but equally she suspected her mother did not have her best interests in mind. An unwelcome realization that had been.

She had entertained leaving Garreg Mach, but where could she go? A lone nun? Her only skills were in reading and writing, illuminating new copies of church texts. 

She buried her face in her hands, exhausted, depressed, angry. 

Her ears twitched involuntarily, it seemed she had heard a creak. She craned her head slowly in the direction of the noise, but of course nothing could be seen in the dark. Then slowly, the creak was heard again. As Theia looked on, a crack appeared in cathedral’s left doorway, one door slowly opened. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the cathedral floor, a welcome change.

The door opened only a little, a lone figure could be seen slipping inside. Their footsteps were loud against the marble tiles. Theia sat absolutely still, for it seemed she had not been noticed yet. She watched the lone figure walking hither and thither, their manner reminded her of some of the pilgrims who had come for the first time, curious about every structure and room, eager to see and explore.  
The minutes stretched uncomfortably for Theia. She wondered what to do. The cathedral was closed at night, and the proper course of action was to report this to a guard on the night shift. But then, had she not snuck in herself earlier? Would they ask what she was doing up at this hour as well?

“Hmm, and who have we here?”

The words jolted her out of her thoughts. The intruder, a woman Theia realized, now stood next to the pew on which she sat. Probably only a metre away, though distances were hard to judge in the dark. The voice was mildly accented, though Theia could not place it.

“I’m simply a nun here at the monastery. I think I could ask the same of you. You are aware the cathedral is not open to the public at this hour, are you not?” she answered, examining the dark form.

“Ah, in truth I wasn’t,” came the reply, as the intruder sat down beside her. She did not sound terribly concerned. “But I suppose it’s not surprising now that you’ve said it. Still, I was curious about this cathedral. It’s really quite nice.”

“Indeed it is. Even so, I must ask you to leave now,” said Theia, suppressing a weary sigh. “It would be best if you returned in the morning when the doors open. It will be nicer still in the sunlight, and you won’t be transgressing.”

The intruder waved her concerns aside.

“I’m happy to study it now. I can create some light easily, see?”

She held up a hand, and indeed, from magic an orb radiating light formed in it.

It took a moment for Theia’s eyes to adjust to the newfound source of illumination, she blinked angrily at the pain. After some moments, she looked at the one who sat beside her once again.  
What she saw took her by surprise.

Her skin colour was paler than anyone she had ever seen. Her pallor seemed frankly unhealthy, even as the face looking at her sported a radiant smile. The hand holding the orb was gloved, or so it appeared, and covered in unfamiliar markings. The hair was white as ash as well, styled in rings and held in place with a hairpin. The blue and black coat she wore was thick and furred, sensible clothes for winter. She had a small bag hanging from one shoulder.

“Are you not from Fodlan?” she asked, before she could stop herself. The books said that those of other lands and continents had strange appearances, though she had never herself met an Almyran or Dagdan to confirm that for herself.

“I’m afraid I am,” the intruder replied, smile widening as she studied Theia in turn. “And if you’re surprised about my appearance, I could point out that your green hair is not typically seen in humans. I like that they cover the ears though, those would have been the bigger giveaway.”

Theia almost fell over herself as she shot up and retreated a few steps.

“You know?” she whispered.

“Well, I do now,” said the intruder, giggling. It was curiously sweet sound. “But yes, those are traits associated with Saint Seiros and her kin. Is that not taught here? I thought this was the Church of Seiros.”  
Seiros’ kin? This was the first she had heard of it. Though, the one lady in her dreams with the striking similarity to the archbishop had been cheered as Seiros, she recalled.

“Saint Seiros’ physical features are not given much consideration in the holy texts, nor are her kin,” explained Theia, falling into one of the routine explanations she would give to pilgrims. “Central to her story is the revelation she received from the Goddess. That is whence her importance comes.”

She considered the intruder’s statement another moment.

“How do you know of Saint Seiros’ physical characteristics?” 

A part of her grew excited. Was this some lost text dating back to the church’s founding? An opportunity to expand the canon was to be cherished.

“Well, I did see her a few times. Her, and her mother, and her siblings.”

Her excitement evaporated as quickly as it had seized her. 

“Please do not joke about these matters,” she said, weary once more.

“I’m not.”

Now Theia adopted a patronizing tone. “You are aware, perhaps, that these figures of whom you speak have been dead for four centuries?”

“Oh, is Seiros dead? Who killed her?” 

Frustration was starting to well up in Theia, but she ignored it.

“Saint Seiros was not killed. She passed away peacefully after the founding of the church, once its foundations had been secured and a worthy successor identified. A funeral was held and Archbishop Phoebe took her place as head of the Church. The Goddess took Saint Seiros’ soul to reside with her in the heavens above.”

“That sounds unlikely to me. Her kind do not simply pass away.”

Her kind? The question must have been plain on her face, as the intruder decided to continue.

“I see you’re not fully informed about these things. Sit down, and I’ll tell you. I was there for much of it, after all.”

Again with that joke?

“If I might be so bold,” said Theia. “What proof have you of this claim?”

“Oh right,” said the intruder, reaching into her bag. She rummaged through the contents for a bit, before taking out a round object. “Will this suffice to convince you?”

The little round orb seemed familiar, but Theia could not quite place it. She held out a hand and grazed with her fingers, when recognition came.

“Why do you have a crest stone? For that matter, why are you simply carrying it around like this?”

To Theia, this made very little sense. She had admittedly only seen crest stones when inlaid in the Heroes’ Relics or in the sarcophagi of the Four Saints, and never apart like this. On reflection, it made some sense that the things could be separated, as the tales always talked of relics and crests as separate things. Still, to have some intruder with so little knowledge of the church’s teachings to simply have one in her possession was incredibly strange.

“So many questions,” said the intruder. “You had best pick somewhere for me to start. Though the matters are related, I suppose.”

Theia took a deep breath, attempting to compose herself. She sat down on the pew again, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she tried to get some clarity.

“How about you introduce yourself first?” she said, a tired smile gracing her features. “And then we can begin with what you were saying about Saint Seiros and her kin.”

“Ah yes, I have neglected to give you my name in all this, haven’t I? she said, giggling again. “Very well, you may call me Annalise for now. And you are?”

“Sister Theia.”

Annalise nodded and put the crest stone back in her bag.

“As for the matter of Seiros, it’s quite simple.” Annalise said. “But first I must ask you, what do you know of Sothis?”

Theia blinked twice.

“She is the Goddess, the progenitor, the arbiter of every soul,” Theia answered. “It is against the church teachings to use her name in vain or carelessly however, and so in daily speech she is referred to simply as the goddess.”

“I see. I figured as much, but I had to double-check,” said Annalise, sighing. She regarded Theia with a bemused look for a moment. “To put it simply, Seiros is Sothis’ daughter. Her youngest, I believe.”

The goddess had children? Surely not. That had not been taught in any of the texts, and so crucial a detail would not have been omitted. She had not the time to interject before Annalise continued however.

“In the distant past, Sothis resided at a place called Zanado, slumbering there. In her sleep, we had Nemesis kill her.”

It was the tone that was somehow the worst part of it. Annalise sounded so neutral about it, as if killing the goddess was equivalent to a trip to the market. 

Theia forced herself to consider the statement further. It was true that the church taught that the goddess had stayed in Zanado for some time before returning to the heavens. In a twisted way, this tale of her being killed was not even in direct contradiction of that. That the King of Liberation had in the end been consumed by his power and turned to evil was also well-known.

“Of course, killing Sothis was not the end of it. Zanado was home to most of her children, Seiros included. Our intent at the time was to kill them all as vengeance, but somehow Seiros slipped through our net.” Annalise shrugged. “It made little difference in the short run. From Sothis and her get’s blood and bones we fashioned weapons and crests. We gifted them to Nemesis and his followers, a reward to our pawns for a job well done. Nemesis was granted the greatest crest and weapon of all, of course. From Sothis’ heart and blood, the Crest of Flames. From her bones, the Sword of the Creator. Nemesis took to them like a dog to a bone, which is somewhat appropriate, I suppose.”

“But as I said, Seiros slipped through our net. Not all of Sothis’ spawn were at Zanado at the time either. Seiros was able to reunite with her remaining siblings and exacted revenge on our pawns. Nemesis himself was slain on the Tailteann plains with most of his followers. I had a lovely view of that grisly affair, as it happens. Still, our work was not completely undone. While Nemesis himself had no issue, his followers did, and they inherited the crests. That was intended on our part of course, but we could not be completely sure until we saw it happen. I left Fodlan not long after actually, my interest in this continent more or less died with Nemesis. I only recently returned to see how it'd changed in my absence.”

A great numbness had seized Theia, but she retained some clarity.

“You use ‘we’ and ‘our’ a great deal; whom did you orchestrate this with? Or do monsters typically use the royal pronoun?”

Annalise laughed.

“I’m afraid not. I am of Agartha, to be clear. We spanned the southern third of Fodlan at our height, until Sothis took it upon herself to scorch our civilization off the face of this world. Had she succeeded, that would have been the end of it, but enough of us survived in our underground holdfasts and secret cities to regroup and plot revenge.” She shrugged again. “Well, I should say the others desired revenge. I was never particularly attached to my country or my countrymen, but I was curious to see what we could do with the remains of the goddess and her children, so I went along with it. It’s why I’m still alive, as it happens. From the blood of Sothis’ children I was able to make an elixir to extend my life.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Theia began. It was meant to be a condemnation, and the beginning of a longer speech, but Annalise’s cheerful smile and eager nods told her it was pointless. She sighed.

“Thence comes the crest stone, I assume?”

“Indeed. I believe it was… I no longer recall his name, actually. Well, in the end we slew more at Zanado than Nemesis had loyal followers. We did originally have a perfect symmetry of bandits and dead godspawn, but a number of Nemesis’ men saw fit to perish at Zanado. Noa, Aubin and a couple of others. So we ended up having some crests and weapons to spare. I held onto two of each. The one I just showed you was meant for a handsome, radiant sociopath named Chevalier.” Annalise paused to consider, tapping her chin in thought. “Probably for the best he died, come to think of it. Never did get to do him though.”

This was a lot to digest. Theia did not truly believe Annalise, not yet. Some of what she described did provide explanations for certain details, like why Zanado was known also as Red Canyon. Still, it was difficult to accept the crests the goddess had gifted to humanity were in truth engineered from the corpses of her and her children. 

Yet, when she thought back on her dreams, on Saint Seiros’ face when she killed Nemesis, her words during that confrontation, there seemed to be an element of truth to the tale. The girl on the throne, how was she connected? 

“Could you describe Saint Seiros for me?” she asked, voice monotone.

“Hmm, honestly you look like a younger version of her, though you have something of Sothis in your face as well, from what I recall.” Said Annalise. “Let me think, she was quite tall, pointed ears, green hair, green eyes, had a little winged headband? Coronet? Diadem? I can never recall the nomenclature for headwear. Anyway, at Tailteann she wielded a sword with a wavy patterned blade, and pulled out a punching dagger to do Nemesis in. It was honestly quite stylish, I felt like holding up a placard with an eight written on it.”

That boded ill. It matched the details in the dream. 

“And the sword of the Creator? Did Nemesis wield it at Tailteann?”

“Oh yes. Proved to be a hindrance though, when Seiros shifted to simply brawling with him. As I said, we made the thing from Sothis’ bones, so her weird display of affection towards it when she reclaimed it made some sense. I felt a tad embarrassed for her though.”

Theia buried her face in her hands once more. She felt tears streaming from her eyes. The details were matching, Annalise was not lying. Her suspicions about the girl on the throne were stronger than ever. She was dreaming about the goddess. Why was she dreaming about the goddess? The goddess was dead, if Annalise was right. Worse, then church had been lying about its origins.

“Hmm, what’s wrong?” asked Annalise.

“Everything!” she yelled, before she calmed down slightly. “My dreams, your stories, they match. My mother is pleased about my nightmares, the church’s origins are a creative reinterpretation, and every night I see the dead progenitor goddess asleep on her throne.”

That last bit got response out of Annalise, her eyes widening in alarm. She looked around to see that no one was coming in response to the outburst. A moment later, she returned her attention to Theia.

“You dream of Sothis, nightly, you say? You’ve had dreams of Tailteann too?”

Theia nodded.

“My mother, the archbishop, assured me that it was nothing to concern myself about. But I know she lied. On that point, I am certain.”

Annalise nodded.

“On that point, I’d agree with you,” she said, she took Theia by the chin and leaned in, examining her more closely. “I was surprised, but delighted, when I first saw you. I wondered if you might be another of Sothis’ children, another one we missed. I think I know better now. You are Seiros’ child, are you not?”

Theia nodded as best she could with someone holding her jaw, lifting a hand to push Annalise’s hand away.

“Ah, forgive me,” she said.

Annalise did not move back though. Instead she pulled out a knife. Theia, alarmed, tried to pull back.

“What are you doing?” 

“I thought I should taste your blood, to be sure.”

The thought of this murderer using a knife on her was terrifying to Theia. But part of her wanted that implicit offer of knowledge. If the Agarthan was among those who first devised the crests and the relics, made from the bodies of her own grandmother and uncles and aunts if Annalise was to be believed, then maybe she could also shed some light on Theia’s own condition.

“I’ll… cut myself, and let you taste my blood that way, alright?”

She got a nod. Taking the knife, she pressed the knife’s edge into her fingertip, grimaced, and cut a shallow cut. Blood flowed out immediately, covering the knife’s edge. She was about to hand it back to Annalise when the Agarthan took her bleeding finger in her mouth and sucked on it.

“Forgive me,” she said a moment later, still grinning. 

“You don’t sound apologetic at all.”

“I’m not,” Annalise said. “But it’s only courteous, is it not?”

“I’d prefer if your courtesies actually meant something,” said Theia. She gave Annalise a quizzical look. “Well?”

Annalise did not immediately answer the unspoken question. Instead, she raised a hand and placed it on Theia’s chest.

“I could not detect a heartbeat earlier, and I cannot detect one now. I can taste Sothis’ crest in your blood, but it looks like it goes a tad further than that. Unless my skills and expertise have deserted me entirely, you have the Crest of Flames in place of a heart.” Annalise seemed fascinated. “I’ve never seen this sort of thing before.”

“Hence the dreams?”

“Probably,” Annalise admitted. “You have your goddess’ literal remains lodged inside your body, and it’s keeping you alive. I imagine this would forge a connection to their spirit, wherever that might be. And if the archbishop is pleased about this, and that archbishop is Seiros in the guise of a human, well, I can but imagine it’s the daughter’s plan to be reunited with her mother again.”

“Be reunited with her mother? How precisely would that work?”

“Hmm?” said Annalise. “Well, necromancy is not quite my forte, though on reflection it does sound fascinating and I should probably devote more of my time towards it. But anyway, my educated guess is that your connection with Sothis will eventually strengthen and solidify. These dreams are, in a sense, her soul’s memories. In time, they will overtake you even in your waking moments, your recollections will not be wholly your own, your thoughts will not be wholly your own. Eventually, she will awaken entirely, and you will fall asleep for the last and final time. Theia will be no more, and the archbishop will have her mother back.”

Theia felt like crying again. Her worst fears had been realized. She always had a suspicion, in the back of her mind. But to hear it confirmed like this made it so much worse.

“How many years have I left, do you think?” Even to herself, her voice sounded pathetic and faraway.

“How old are you at the moment?”

“Come spring, I’ll have seen seventeen years.”

“I would reckon ten years or so.”

Ten years. Well, it was something. And if this was how it was to end for her, she had best make those ten years her own, and not that of some being destined to seize her body for itself.  
Then a thought occurred to her.

“You say the crest of flames keeps me alive. Could you replace it with the one in your bag? Could that keep me alive?”

Annalise considered the question at length.

“I daresay it could, yes,” she said at last, hesitantly. “I will say though, Theia, if you’re considering swapping the two, that this could easily kill you.”

“Will you do it if I ask you anyway?”

Annalise nodded. “You’ve noted yourself that the moral and ethical dimensions concern me little, have you not? Still, I’d rather you make this decision knowing the consequences.”

That was a fair point. She did not know all the consequences, did she?

“If I replaced the Crest of Flames with that of … Chevalier, will I eventually be subsumed by one of my uncles or aunts?”

“I doubt it,” Annalise answered. “You seem to have been created expressly to serve as the vessel and means for Sothis’ revival. No doubt Seiros made you using the crest of flames to give shape to her own blood. It’s how I’d go about it if I wanted to reincarnate someone. If that’s the case, your compatibility with your dead aunt, as the case would be if you took the Crest intended for Chevalier, would be too poor. You might have an odd dream or two, but there’d be no risk of any unwanted familial takeover.”

That was enough for her. To be able to sleep without fear once more would be a blessed relief.

“In that case, go ahead,” said Theia. “I place my life in your hands.”

“History has taught us that that’s a terrible idea, but no matter. In this case keeping my word and doing this properly will give me more joy than the alternative.”

Not the most reassuring words she had ever heard, but for some reason Theia decided she would trust the most reprehensible being she had ever met, with the possible exception of her mother. On reflection, desperation was clearly the driving force for this decision. It was too late to back out now though.

The orb illuminating the cathedral shone even brighter now. If anyone looked in through the doors they would be easily spotted. Annalise snapped her fingers and forced the open door shut with magic. Rummaging through her bag again, she produced Chevalier’s crest stone.

“You’ll have to bare your chest to me. I’ll need to swap these as quickly as cleanly as possible for this to work.”

In her hands, the crest stone began to glow. It looked quite ominous.

“Not to worry, I’m simply priming it for its new function.”

Hesitantly, Theia nodded. She removed her coif and unfastened her tunic, slipping out of it. Part of her felt quite self-conscious about it, but what were a few moments of embarrassment compared to the prospect of a long life completely and entirely hers?

Annalise had her knife in hand again. This time, Theia did not protest as she moved it closer.

Before her eyes, the knife descended, slowly, deliberately. Inwardly, she hoped the pain would not be too much. 

Annalise’s other hand shifted.

Theia’s vision went dark.

-

When Theia awoke, they were no longer in the cathedral. She did not know where they were. A forest, it looked like. The trees and ground around her were covered in snow, but she herself felt quite warm, tucked into her bedroll and underneath a cloak. To her side was a campfire, still bright and throwing sparks with some regularity. The crackle of it was comforting. The sky above them was bright. It looked like it might be slightly past noon, based on the sun's position.

She felt for her chest and became conscious of the bandages covering her. Other than a dull pain where she imagined the cut must have been made, she felt quite fine though. Better than she had in a long time, in fact. A dreamless sleep might have had something to do with it. Theia couldn’t help but grin at that. It still felt unreal.

“Finally awake I see.” 

Annalise’s voice was as bright as ever. She came walking out beneath the trees. She sat down next to where Theia rested and regarded her cheerily.

“After I finished the operation I tried to rouse you, but you would not wake. Dawn was nigh, but it felt wrong to just leave you passed out in the cathedral. I hope you don’t mind, but I left Garreg Mach with you over my shoulder. Have you not been sleeping well recently?”

“No,” said Theia. “So… it’s done then?”

“Oh yes. Chevalier’s crest stone is safely lodged where your heart should be, and the Crest of Flames was left in a puddle of your blood back at the cathedral. I pity whoever has to clean that up.”

Part of her wondered why Annalise had not taken it, but a larger part was simply glad that she never had to see or think of the thing again. The archbishop could keep her mother’s crest stone, if it gave her any comfort.

“I must say,” continued Annalise. “I never foresaw myself saving the life of one of the Goddess’ grandchildren. It is not done, we Agarthans have made a hobby of scheming and slithering in the dark to plot your painful demise. Still, I’m not altogether displeased with this innovation.”

She smiled again.

“If you’ll have me, I would like to accompany you, at least for a time. I want to see what the you’ll do to the world. You’ve yet to really come into your own, but considering you’re the bearer of the Crest of Theia now, and your pedigree, I doubt it’ll be boring once you do. I’d recommend toppling a few empires and then forging your own, but the choice is yours.”

She supposed she did have a whole new future to ponder. What course would she take with her life now? She had only experienced the wider world through books before, but now she could almost taste it. There would be time to consider all those things though, Theia thought, as her drowsiness welled up once more. Time enough to see it all, time enough to do it all. It was a comforting thought to fall asleep to.


End file.
